


A Week Of Diplomacy

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-21
Updated: 2009-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:32:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Morgana considers marrying for political reasons. Gwen is not amused.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Week Of Diplomacy

**a week of diplomacy**

  
When she was fourteen Morgana run away from the castle once; it cause quite a commotion in the town and worry and anger to the king for days. She didn't go very far, but she did go far enough. She hid in the woods and looked at the way sunlight fell through the tree-tops to the ground, towards her, like fingers trying to reach her. From those hours – and they were just hours – in the forest Morgana keeps the memory of wet, soft earth under her hands and the scent of grain, apples, grapes and grass. And the memory of Gwen, afterwards, picking the leaves from Morgana's hair.

  


***

  
**one**

The ambassadors and the prince have said they'd stay for the week and Arthur seems to be going out of his way to make sure not one minute of that week they spend without drink in their cups.

He is also specially intent on them enjoying the company of Morgana during all that time as well.

`Are you also going to pick the names for my whole offspring or do I get a say in the matter?´ Morgana asks him in clipped tones.

Merlin and Gwen clear their throats; Gwen is where she's always been, by her lady's side, nothing seems to have changed there, she stands behind her mistress, by the side of the servants but Merlin, Merlin seems in an awkward position since Arthur became king, almost a year ago. He refused to keep on doing his chores for Arthur, he refused his old position in the castle. Gwen had heard him try to explain once, that if he was to be of any use to Arthur he'd have to be his equal.

She wondered how it would feel like, standing up to your master and tell him you were going to be his equal from then on. Gwen wonders, idly, what it would feel like, if she said such things to Morgana.

The warmth in great hall and Merlin's dry laughter wake Gwen from her fantasies. Merlin makes a gesture to her, smiling at the foreign prince and his companions glancing this way, clearly impressed with Morgana, unable to their eyes off her.

Gwen has forgotten where this prince and his ambassadors are supposed to come from. Dumnonia? That sounds about right. There have been so many expeditions like this one passing through Camelot. Arthur seems obsessed with the idea of bringing peace not just to the whole region but further, much further than the eyes can see – Gwen admires him for that, bargaining through treaties and hospitality _and wine_ and not through the sword.

Arthur sees Morgana's eyes fixed on the visiting prince, her lips curved in a disapproving pout. The king sighs.

`Come on, Morgana. Don't be like that.´

`Have you decided on our wedding day yet?´

`You don't have to marry him, you just have to be seen considering it? It's good diplomacy, I'm trying to get his father to sign a treaty with Camelot.´

`I never knew you had such skills for diplomacy, sir,´ Merlin taunts, a tone of clear insurgence in his voice. He does not bother with niceties and court etiquette these days, much to Arthur's annoyance.

`Shut up, Merlin. Look, Morgana, I asked you if you were in love with someone or any such things and you said no. I assumed-´

`You assumed I'd be a toy in your power play.´

Merlin and Gwen stiffen a snort; it's obvious, to anyone but Arthur of course, that Morgana is merely teasing.

`I assumed that it wouldn't kill you to be nice to prince as long as he stays with us. You are a very nice young woman,´ Arthur finishes with a sheepish smile.

He takes Morgana's hands and gives it a polite, frustrated kiss, walking away and shaking his head.

  
**two**

`What do you think of him then?´ Morgana asks the next morning.

Gwen is tending, lost in thought, to Morgana's horse. She and Arthur and the prince and his envoy will go hunting today.

`Who?´

`Who?´ mocks Morgana.

`Oh, the prince.´

`Yes, the prince.´

`I don't know,´ Gwen shrugs, with a heavy feeling at the pit of her stomach, as if she'd eaten stale bread. `He is fine, I guess. Why do you ask me?´

`I should choose a husband that pleases my lady in waiting, don't you think? After all, you will have to live with him as well,´ Morgana replies casually.

There's something unwittingly cruel in her voice and Gwen thinks there always has been, ever since they were children. Her thoughtlessness – Morgan often goes through life as if no one could care about her and so she could do anything she wanted without thinking how it would affect others. It is sad, because it means Morgana thinks she is alone in the world, but it's also unfair. Gwen hates it, aways has.

`So you have decided already?´ Gwen asks, in a small un-daring voice. Something keeps curling and uncurling in her stomach these days.

`Of course not, don't be ridiculous,´ Morgana says.

And leaves it there, thinking it explains all - it doesn't resolve any of Gwen's doubts and fears, it just gives her a bit of hope.

**three**

They are waiting to come into the hall for yet another royal dinner in honour of the distinguished guests. Gwen taps his foot on the wall nervously; Merlin and Morgana watch her in amusement.

`Did you really tell Arthur that you weren't in love with anyone?´ Gwen asks, all of he sudden.

`Oh-uh, are we going to have some girls' talk now?´ Merlin asks excitedly.

Morgana gives the young man *a look*.

`Merlin, how do you manage to always be out of line?´

He grins.

`I practice a lot. The king is a great target, really, I couldn't do it without him.´

Morgana pays him no attention and turns to her maid.

`Well, he asked me, Gwen. He said he wouldn't want to interfere with any prior attachments that I might have but-´

`But that your hand in marriage would be a good asset in the political game. Was that was he said?´ Merlin asks.

Morgana nods.

`That's _exactly_ what he said.´

`But he can't do that,´ Gwen protests.

`Arthur is not making me do anything. I want to help the kingdom in any way I can, it's my duty.´

`But not like this.´

`Why not? I'm still a king's ward. I am valuable. I won't marry anyone I don't want to marry. But I will be thinking of Camelot's welfare when I choose a husband.´

`But you are a girl,´ Merlin gasps. `Shouldn't you be more.. romantic?´

Morgana picks at the sleeves of her dress.

`Why? I always knew I am not totally free in this matter.´

`What do you mean?´

`I've always known there are certain limits to my choice. I can't just go and pick anyone.´

`Can't you?´ Gwen asks.

`Well, it's not like I could well marry anyone. I couldn't marry a servant like Merlin.´

Merlin laughs riotously. He hasn't been called a servant in ages.

Gwen feels something tense and snap somewhere, and is sure she is the only one who hears it.

  
_the three of them were once in the patio; it wasn't a particularly happy day, in fact they remember as a sad day, even if they cannot say what was sad about it any more. but it was a day in which they felt particularly close to one another, kindred, brethren, friends, sitting together on the stone stairs, dreaming on the white stones stairs while Arthur was out hunting or fighting or fulfilling his Destiny in any way he saw fit._

What do you want to be when you grow up? Morgana asked them, pretending an innocence, a childishness, a _tabula rasa_ , long gone since.

I want to have a job telling Arthur what a prat he is – said Merlin.

The girls laughed and shook their heads and entwined their arms with Merlin's and let their forehead rest upon his shoulder.

I want to make swords like my father – said Gwen in a tiny voice.

Gwen liked swords. Merlin looked impressed. Morgana looked afraid. Gwen slipping away between her fingers, Gwen not even saying goodbye, Gwen having a life far from her, Gwen-

And you, Morgana? - someone asked.

And you?

What do you want to be when you grown up?

Morgana opened her mouth but no sounds ever came out.

  
**four**

`Gwen, stop looking at the prince in such murderous fashion or I'll begin to think you are jealous.´

**five**

`We will have a ball tomorrow,´ Arthur announces before the first meal of the day.

`A ball. Of course you would think of that,´ Morgana says, turning her back to him and studying herself in the mirror while Gwen hands her a dress.

Arthur realizes she is wearing some sort of gown, not inappropriate but a bit too familiar.

`Sorry, should I have knocked?´ He asks, embarrassed. `I mean, you should have locked the door, if you were... mmm, not decent. I mean, I am the king and-´

`Yes, you are,´ Morgana replies calmly.

Arthur blushes and turns around, clicking his heels and muttering _good day_ and something that sounds like it.

The girls laugh, the sharo, happy noise pursuing his footsteps through every corner of the castle.

**six**

Her father had always advised her not to get caught in the business of palace and now Gwen remembers those words and pushes them into her palm and closes her fingers around them and pushes her fist to her chest as her eyes follow the wake of Morgana's dress passing by, the red and amber and all the miraculous colours made to gleam under the dozens of candles and their golden candlelight.

Morgana dances with the foreign prince and smiles to him and Gwen wonders how it would be to have him as a master, she wonders how it would be, a world where so changed, when it's not longer _Morgana and Gwen_ , always Morgana and Gwen, always apart, always a world of their own, like they were still children and cared very little for convention.

Gwen feels a strange pressure around her throat, as if someone was trying to choke her from inside.

At the end of the night – almost all guests are gone but Morgana and Arthur are still talking to the prince, Morgana still smiling in that sort of fake and shimmering way of hers – Merlin comes from behind a curtain and taps on Gwen's shoulder as Gwen is filling her cup. She spills a bit.

`Be careful, Merlin.´

He mutters a half-hearted _sorry_ but smiles an open-mouthed smile to her and shows her the bottle he is hiding under his coat.

`Let's get drunk,´ he tells her.

And Gwen follows him.

She doesn't ask how Merlin knows have so many secret passages and rooms near the dungeons but she is glad the one he picks looks relatively clean – it's a cold storage room but Gwen is pretty sure no one has been tortured here. That's enough for her. She copies Merlin's gestures and sits on the straw-covered floor with her legs crossed.

`Drink up,´ Merlin orders.

And so she does. And so they do. And they spend the next hour making fun of the princes' silky clothes. _He's from the south_ , Merlin gestures, appalled.

`I wish I was a prince,´ Gwen tells him wistfully.

`I bet you do,´ Merlin replies, emptying his cup.

`I wish I was a man and I wish I was a prince.´

`Oh, I bet you do.´

`If I were a prince I could marry whomever I wanted.´

`Yes!´ Merlin cheers on.

`If I were a prince I could marry lady Morgana and nobody could say anything against it.´

It's the drink but Merlin gets a bit pensive at that.

`It'd be nice being a prince, wouldn't it? I wish a was a prince. If I were a prince I could marry...´ Merlin struggles, not really coming up with anyone he could marry.

`Arthur?´ Gwen offers, encouraged by the liquor.

Merlin laughs wholeheartedly.

`Yes, Arthur, I could marry Arthur. I already know what is like to mend his socks, so there's that.´

  
**seven**

Gwen is hungover and angry and in love, but she won't neglect her duties.

Morgana finds her picking up her clothes for dinner the next afternoon. For some reason Gwen can't meet her eye, not this early, not _now_. Morgana sees the way she flinches at sunlight but says nothing.

`So, the prince and his servants will be leaving us tomorrow morning?´ Gwen asks casually.

`Yes, that's the idea,´ Morgana replies.

`I can say I'll be glad when they are gone,´ says Gwen and then realizes how it came out. `No, I didn't mean to insult them. It's just all this extra work, with the dinners and the dancing-´

`It's fine. I know what you mean,´ but no she doesn't, Morgana doesn't know. She adds: `But anyway, I'm sure they can be _persuaded_ to stay longer.´

She does it again. That thing where she speaks without thinking about any other soul in the world. Gwen lets the dress slips from her hands. It makes a loud _clink_ sound as one of the pearly buttons hit the woodwork.

`Gwen?´

`Don't marry him,´ Gwen says, all in one breath, _don'tmarryhim_.

The other woman seems taken aback but something in Gwen's voice. A decisiveness she's never used with her mistress before.

`You really dislike him that much?´ Morgana asks.

Gwen stands there for a moment, rooted to the spot by the weight of Morgana's ignorance. She sighs. She picks up the dress from the floor.

And she turns to leave.

Morgana stops her with thin fingers across her collarbone, soft, a brief touch, _wait_. She says:

`You _are_ jealous.´

She speaks the words as if shocked by the mere existence of a language for it.

Gwen says nothing, looks at her, hard eyes, not blinking.

`Oh.´

`Yes, _oh_ ,´ Gwen repeats, tight tones of buried fury and weariness. This time she really turns to leave.

`No, Gwen, wait.´

`What?´

Morgana opens her mouth and Gwen waits, waits for something, _anything_ really. No sound comes.

`Morgana, you are an idiot,´ she says instead.

She makes another gesture towards the door but Morgana stops her again, this time with full hands and all the intent in the world, this time she really stops her.

She grabs Gwen's arms.

Then, in quick succession, two things happen, laughter breaks in Morgana, unpolite, unannounced, and she hugs Gwen in a childish manner.

Gwen untangles herself and puts her hands on Morgana's shoulders. She could cry from frustration. She shakes Morgana, not so gently.

`This is not a joke,´ she says, her voice damp with locked-away tears.

Morgana goes limp in her hands, her face suddenly grey and serious and severe.

`No, it's not,´ she breathes out, she sounds deliberate, intent, putting all the weight of her existence in those three words.

Now it's Gwen's turn to curve her lips into the shape of an O, _never thought you could-_ and there's a big “yes” instead, in the form of Morgana's tentative first smile, and the way she lifts her hand, all grace like a princess, and puts two fingertips against Gwen's lips, and trails along them, retracing them, reshaping them, reinventing.

Gwen draws a long breath, closing her eyes just for a moment, feeling tired and content, still but living, like amber liquid in one of those phials in Gaius' cabinet.

When she opens her eyes again somehow the light in Morgana's room has grown thicker, darker but warmer. She feels like ten thousand years have passed through her in a moment.

Gwen holds Morgana's face in her hands and she does not care if they are rough from labour. She kisses her. She kisses her lady. It is like standing up and saying _we are equals_. It is like standing on the very last stone of a cliff and let the wind that comes from the sea and pierce the rocks pierce you too. Gwen has never seen the sea. She is beginning to understand that love is needle-sharp and Morgana in danger of bleeding her to death. (remembering Gaius instructions on feverish times, _sometimes the patients has to bleed to heal_ , sometimes we have to bleed ourselves to death to discover what is underneath and set ourselves on fire because bone-ashes cannot lie)

Kisses come and go, like a present loved but returned, and Morgana fills them with happy & embarrassed sighs of _I didn't know, I didn't know_ -

Gwen smiles and takes her hand and guides her across the room, saying:

`You are such an idiot.´

***

Morgana can't remember if she dreamed something in her sleep last night and now has forgotten, or if she slept without dream.

She's left Gwen asleep on her bed – their bed? some boundaries were burned, scorched last night, and longer before, and she is not sure which ones – and breathing loudly but in a sort of sing-song voice, like a small but very wild animal. Her clothes were neatly folded and resting on the armchair and Morgana wondered when Gwen had time for that, between arms and legs and lips and bones fusing and skin meeting skin, when did she have time, and now the morning feels filled with some sort of wonder, some sort prodigy in the sky and it takes Morgana some time to realize it's just the echo of herself muttering _gwen, gwen, gwen_ under her breath.

Arthur is in the great hall, on his own, sitting on a chair at the end of the table, puring over some or other maps or treaties or any other very royal and kingly papers, Morgana can only guess. He seems lost in his own world.

`You are early this morning,´ he comments when he notices her presence.

Morgana walks to his side and stands there for a while, until Arthur realizes she hasn't spoken yet.

`What?´

She bows to him lightly.

`I will not marry politically, my lord. I cannot.´

Arthur frowns.

`I thought you said you didn't love anyone.´

`I believed that myself,´ she replies. Then, the smallest smile: `I was wrong.´

Morgana remembers being in the woods, the damp, living earth underneath. Gwen's fingers running through her hair afterwards.

A sense of freedom.


End file.
